


Three Years of Presents (Something Productive)

by Nicole Crucial (moilArchitect)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moilArchitect/pseuds/Nicole%20Crucial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you have three years' worth of birthday presents to give to a certain friendleader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Today John is turning sweet sixteen and you're sure none of the four of you could imagine a better present than being reunited. Granted, it's more a gift for you all than a gift for him, and some of the trolls have had some choice words about the subject, but you know that the fabled friendleader wants nothing more than to see his pack. Of course, you still have an actual present to give him, a really good one, you think (at least a good one if John is anything like his thirteen-year-old self), as well as the two you've saved from his previous birthdays, which you never got to give him mainly because he was millions of lightyears and universes away and that's a pretty hard distance to bridge on short notice, even for you guys.

John, for his part, is lit up like an Egbert Christmas tree--he sent you pictures of Dad's antics, once--or the Green Sun, a considerably more blinding and more unpleasant comparison. You have a terrible and simultaneously anticipatory feeling in your gut that he's about to do something incredibly Johnlike--AKA, dumb and sweet as the birthday cake he can't stand en masse--but you're not quite sure _what_. You are pretty sure that that is where the "terrible" feeling is coming from.

Interestingly, the Johnlike action in question involves screaming " _ROSE!_ " at the top of his lungs and literally hugging the breath out of you, and also taking you for a magic carpet ride thirty feet above the floor, sans rug. You are not really new to flying, Breath-induced or no, but something about whizzing loop-the-loops through the air (or lack thereof) in the arms of the Heir of your session sends butterflies through your stomach.

Dave has learned by now that you are far more emotive than you pretend to be, but the look on your face must be especially priceless, because he is actually dropping the pokerface to laugh at you.

You, of course, feel properly avenged when Jade lets out a yell that sounds more like a bark and literally tackles him, jolting the smirk from his face in a decidedly _not_ coolkid-like way.

You realize you are clinging to John as he brings the two of you to touch down, and you are only mildly surprised to find it so, and not really opposed to it in any way. In fact, you kind of wish he wouldn't ever put you down, as silly and fleetingly romantic and dumb as that notion is; you are sure if you mentioned it he would blush and stammer but make an earnest promise in some way or another, but you are not quite ready to deal with John in full-force derp mode. Composure regained, you settle for studying his face for a moment--a really long moment actually; he looks so much older, where the hell did that _jawline_ come from--as he studies yours in turn.

In that moment you might have kissed him or he you, so bizarre was the look in his eyes, but Dave is half-seriously telling Jade she should do something more productive with her tongue than lick his face. Still, perhaps the four of you might even have disregarded the awkward taboo of engaging in sloppy makeouts in the same area as your (ecto)sibling if Karkat hadn't come marching in the lead of the trolls warding (loudly) against that very occurrence.

(You don't think that's really fair--they've had plenty of opportunity for inducing discomfort with public sloppy makeouts and it's only fair that you get your turn.)

Still you think that kissing is a thing that might-possibly-maybe still happen, until John admits defeat and says he bets he can tell which one is Karkat, and wow the trolls are less weird-looking than he imagined. Of course. Typical John, ADHD poster child.

Your appropriately amused smirk covers an inaudible sigh as his arms leave your waist, and even as Dave pushes back to his feet he is giving you an _I-saw-that _look from under his shades. You return an unnerving wink that says _ditto, tiger,_ and you know that all is well between (ecto)siblings.__

And then you watch the Egbert-Harleys greet the trolls and Davesprite collect high-fives and think, mildly disappointed, that John's birthday present (the _three years' worth_ ) will have to wait until you're alone.

Well, then. You'll just have to take Dave's advice, and do something productive with your tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

Today is your sixteenth birthday, and though you don't know her thoughts, Rose was right--being reunited with your pals is pretty much the best present that anyone could ever ask for. And after pretty much tackling your Seer in that "friendleader hug" you promised that may have encompassed a liiiiiittle more than friendliness, you go on to tenderly embrace your best bro Strider and then tease Karkat because he's short, and meet most of the trolls. They really do look a lot different than you thought!

But now Rose has grabbed your hand amongst the hubbub, saying she's got your birthday presents in her room. It should be an innocent statement (unfortunately, nothing is ever fully "innocent" with Rose), so you give your patented derpy grin and tell her to wait so you can grab hers. She laughs and says that isn't necessary, it's _your_ birthday, after all, but you're going to insist.

On the way back from the ship you try to convince yourself that it's just friends exchanging presents, but you are not quite successful. There is a terrible and anticipatory feeling in your gut. You know that whatever Rose has planned will be great, but the thing is, _you don't know what she has planned_ , and you are pretty sure that that is where the "terrible" comes from.

But within a few minutes you are in her room, which is surprisingly brighter and warmer than you'd pictured, soft purple accented with other colors, brightly lit. Maybe after becoming a Seer of Light, Rose has had more inclination towards that particular thing. Makes sense. She tells you to put down your hastily-wrapped and admittedly sloppy-looking presents by hers, which are neat and precise as always, and the both of you sit down.

You insist she open hers first and she gives you an exasperated look but complies. The first present is a little gold charm bracelet, with three charms hanging off it: the Breath symbol, the Time symbol, and the Space symbol. You see her gaze soften as she smiles with genuine fondness and think: _score._ You offer to put it on her, and she complies, and the gold chain against her ever-pale skin just makes her look even more radiant.

You wonder briefly when the word 'radiant' even entered your _vocabulary,_ let alone in reference to your best gal friend. And then without too much thought at all, you attribute it to jetlag as she opens the second gift: a pretty turquoise headband with her Light symbol on it. You notice suddenly and with a fleeting moment of _wow, I'm good_ that it matches her shoes.

She smiles again and removes her current headband to situate it on her head, noting that this one is a better accent on her godly pajamas, and you both laugh a little. For some reason, the laughter lingers in the air like there was something else to be had, but again, you shrug it off.

The third present is the one you are proudest of. It is Rose's very own copy of your kickass Ghostbusters game. She looks very, very amused, that black smirk on her lips twitching a little, and then she finds the other half (the half that is less joke and more actual present), the thick purple journal with pen attached.

You tell her that you managed to rig it so that the pen will move on its own, Rose just has to tell it what to write. The benefits of the Windy Thing, you say. Rose looks pleasantly stunned for a moment, turning it over in her hands. Jewelry and accessories are nice, you know, but writing is what rules her heart. You are particularly proud of this gift.

Rose soon overcomes her fascination and with the same ever-present black smirk passes her presents to you. The first present is small, and as you open it you are pleased to find a pendant in the shape of her Light symbol on a leather thong. She leans over in a movement that briefly makes your heart stop because she's _really close--jesus, John, et ahold of yourself--_ and blows softly on it. You watch in wonder as it glows bright as the sun itself.

The second present is a little less instant-gratification. After ripping the wrapping paper to shreds, you turn the neatly-bundled stack of letters over in your hands. They are predictably scented like roses and on the front of each crisp envelope are the whorling purple cursive loops of her handwriting, spelling _John._

You give her a puzzled look, and she says they are admittedly one-sided letters to you she's written over the past three years, including your three birthday letters. She hopes they are appropriately sentimental, and, a little bit awed by them, you assure her that they most certainly are.

The third present is the biggest, as per your tradition of saving the biggest presents for last. You tear open the wrapping like a kid at Christmas, or like yourself at an Egbert Christmas, and are absolutely delighted to find a matching sweater set with the Breath symbol knitted neatly on the fronts. For you and Casey, Rose explains, and you give her an impulsive hug that doesn't change the little smirk on her face one bit.

You thank her for the gifts and assume that your business is done here, ignoring a little dark ball in your stomach that is saying something you don't want to hear. You start to get up, but Rose lays a pale hand on your arm. You think it's a little ironic that someone who wears a sun on their chest looks like she's never seen any sun at all--though it's _certainly_ not like you've been looking at her chest or anything.

Rose says she still has three years' worth of presents left to give. You give her a funny look and say you're sixteen, not nineteen, wow Rose I know your forté isn't math but really--

Suddenly there is a Seer of Light on top of you.

You don't even know how she got on your lap but she's there, arms flung around your neck, lips on yours, soft but ruthless and tasting like pumpkin-scented heartbreak, ash, and light. For a second you fail to register what's going on. Your first cognizant thought is "wow, she is probably smearing black lipstick all over me," and the second is, "holy _shit,_ she's smearing black lipstick all over me."

And then your instincts kind of take over, you lay your big hands gingerly on her hips (wow, she's a lot more filled out, where did all that come from), and she's running her teeth along your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let her in. You wonder how the fuck she seems to know what she's doing but don't dwell too much on it, just hope you don't seem like the helpless fuck you know you are.

You don't know what you were expecting in this gift-exchange, but it definitely wasn't the two of you topless and handsy with your tongues crammed down each other's throats. For a moment you are pretty sure that at least one of you has some handfuls of very nice ass, but you can no longer distinguish where Rose ends and you begin.

You can barely breathe and are halfway to thinking "whoa now let's hold our horses what is going on here," and then all thoughts in your head implode on themselves as she does something productive with her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "pumpkin-scented heartbreak, light, and ash" is actually coined by [asktheconvent](http://fuckyeahdersecest.tumblr.com/post/12267045025/asktheconvent-if-only-i-had-my-reams-of), it's just my personal headcanon so I threw it in.


End file.
